You
better snap out of it, partner. Youre too young and smart
to be living like this.

You
ask me why Im out here, and I have to say that I couldnt
take it anymore, I was burned out. Im sure it was a gradual process,
wearing me down, but then sometimes it seems to me the change occurred
overnight. One day I was game for things, willing to push myself into
something for the experience, if nothing else; and the next day, that
man was gone, he was missing something. That something might have been
the last of my youth. I was a changed man, fully entered into a new
phase in my life. Time, it seems, had dictated to me as it did with
everyone else; eventually it will have its say.

With me, it took a little longer than it does with some people; I had
good health and even looked younger than my years, which people regularly
pointed out. That, it seemed to me, meant I was doing something right.
It was more reassuring than being told the opposite, or that I looked
like shit.

I still meet people who, because of my appearance, cant understand
why Im not doing something else with my life. I look intelligent
- collegiate, some say. I dont look like the typical street person
or vagrant. I dont look crazy. What in the hell am I doing out
here wandering the streets with a pack over my shoulder, sleeping in
alleys and parks? Wheres my car? Dont I have a job? And
is that booze I smell on you at this time of day? You better snap out
of it, partner. Youre too young and smart to be living like this.
Yes, theres always a good soul out there trying to give you a
boost with a pep talk, and I am never rude to them. I listen to what
they say and nod my head and smile because I really have no answer for
them. Not one that would satisfy, for I dont know if I have the
right words for it.

The simplest way I can put it is that Im where I am now because
I have nowhere else to go at the moment, no place calls to me, no particular
destination.

Physically, I could be somewhere else, but my mind would be in the same
place, regardless of city or street, or the people. My mind is outside
of things in that I never feel completely given to any place or activity;
I seldom feel an attraction toward people and their doings strong enough
to bring me closer. Im aware of a distance even if theyre
not. And I have to wonder at the connections people have
to their environment, and others around them. What are those bonds?
What compels them to keep plunging into the fray?
Even when I was younger and more committed to accepted practices, I
wondered how long I could play the part. For I knew that is what it
was, and I knew the time and effort it took in carrying it out.
Well, one day the show didnt go on, it seems. Somewhere along
the line I gave up playing any of the designated roles. I ran into myself.
It all led there, for I was too depressed for it to lead anywhere else,
other than death. No role will sustain you when youre in that
much pain and doubt. You turn quickly one day and there you are; you
see yourself. And you are either so repulsed that it will eventually
kill you, or you let out a little sigh of relief, thinking its
not so bad, you can do something with this (although not along that
same path you were on, the one that almost did kill you).
So Im still here, taking it day to day. I no longer look further
than that.

What about your future? I hear. You have to plan for something.
But plannings out for the moment - at least the long-range kind.
That kind of thing frustrates (the inevitable lowering of expectations)
to the point of depression, and I dont need to be going in that
direction again.
I had no choice but to accept the fact that I was a failure at what
many people call a normal life, a definite failure. Look
at the results, I said to myself. Can you call yourself a success, you
who have had suicide on your mind more often than youd care to
admit? You who have actually tried to go through with it. You who drink
yourself into a stupor every night, which is the only time you sing
or laugh. Yes, youre a man sitting at the top all right, a man
in full command of his days, a man with a plan.

I tried to laugh at this, but that rang hollow. I figured I would probably
be considered a sick man by certain professionals who specialized in
mental illness. Perhaps it was emotional, or a denial, as they say in
the rehabs. Perhaps a touch of schizophrenia and drug burn-out. In my
mind, I could see the doctor holding his clipboard and nodding his head,
occasionally jotting down something. And me really focusing on his mustache,
his haircut, his big ears or his well-manicured fingers. I would try
to put myself in his shoes for a bit, try to gather from the details
at hand some kind of picture of his existence, and what the advantages
might be in doing things his way. And yet I would never trade lives,
no matter how much of a success this doctor was considered
to be. No, I have never met the person I would trade lives with. Ive
been with myself long enough now that Id like to see how it all
plays out, without thinking in terms of success or failure.
I sit in whatever space I call mine for the moment and watch and listen,
reflect and sing, talk to myself, let another day go by. True, Im
not as outgoing as I used to be. As I said, there came a day when things
changed for me, and I didnt feel the old powerful need to be understood
in some way, by somebody. You might say a few concerns evaporated, became
pointless to me; I had shed a skin of some sort. I now feel easier for
it, as if it were necessary.

Not that I can say theres any great improvement, but theres
no use pretending that what was still is. Time to get on, if youre
going to do that, in the way that feels right. No more explanations
for those who have defined me already.